Baby Brother
by Giacinta2
Summary: Tag to 10,23. The Winchesters broke the world for each other. Could we have expected anything less! Gen. One-shot.


Sam was ready, as ready as he'd ever be.  
This time his death would have purpose This time he would be dying for Dean. His big brother had asked it of him and Sam owed him, owed him big-time.

:

If he had to die it was justice that it be by his big brother's hand.  
Dean had freely given his life to bring Sam back from the dead at Cold Oak, and his only reward had been forty years of torture in Hell and the stain on his soul of being the one to start the Apocalypse.

His big brother had given him back his life. Now that life was Dean's to dispose of. What did the Chinese proverb say? "If you save a person's life, they are your responsibility forever"  
He belonged to Dean body and soul, but then he always had.

:

Sam lifted his head with pride to face his brother, unable to stop the tears from sliding down his cheeks. But they weren't tears of fear, they were born of sadness and despair.  
This was the last mortal sight he'd ever have of Dean, a memory he'd cherish wherever he was bound for after death.  
Not that the 'where' mattered, because Sam would be alone; no Winchester-land tucked away in some corner of heaven, or in some torture chamber in hell.

Dean would be transported to some unknown dimension where he could never hurt anyone again, anyone except Sam that is, who'd be left to mourn his big brother for all eternity, the empty space at his side never to be filled again by his sibling's warmth.

:

He could feel a sob about to escape his lips, but he swallowed it down. Dean would be feeling bad enough. Sam saw no need to break down completely, though he hadn't been able to stop the tears.

Sam held his brother's gaze, trying to smile, to let Dean know there was no rancour in his heart, that there was no need to ask for forgiveness, though Dean had pronounced those very words.

:

Just before Dean got ready to swing the Scythe, Sam remembered the photos he'd grasped before leaving the bunker.  
"Wait Dean," he said.  
Dean stayed his hand, glad perhaps for any excuse to prospone the re-enactment of Cain and Abel that was about to take place.  
He watched dispassionately as Sam arranged the two photos on the floor.

"Keep them, Dean. In the future, whenever you manage to get rid of the Mark and become my big brother once again, you can look at them and remember the love."

:

Even with the Mark swirling darkly within his soul, urging him to wield the Scythe and put an end to his brother's life, Dean could still hear the primal urge that had accompanied him his entire life, calling out loud and clear. The mantra that repeated incessantly 'Look out for Sammy'.

But those words were only the tip of the iceberg. Beneath them flowed the love for his baby brother, unending, bottomless, all-encompassing.  
He remembered that there was nothing he wasn't prepared to do to keep his sibling safe.

:

His gaze shifted from Sam's tear-stained face to the the photos.  
There, faded and grainy was baby Sammy. Dean recalled how ecstatic he'd been when the baby was born. He'd become immediately enamoured of the tiny bundle of life, the minuscule hands and feet, the first drooly smile, the way Sam would look up adoringly when Dean called his name.

He remembered the Before, when he'd had his own room filled with toys, the love of his mom and dad.  
And he remembered the After, when his mom, his home, his everything had been taken from him, except for Sammy.  
He and his little brother, closer than two siblings should ever be.

Dean swallowed down the lump that had somehow formed unasked in his throat, and lifted his head to meet Sam's eyes.  
That baby brother, no longer tiny, but a grown man; a man who was kneeling at his feet, smiling bravely up at him, offering himself as a sacrifice in the hope that it might help Dean find peace.

:

The Mark was dangerous, Dean knew it, knew what it was doing to him, what it would ultimately turn him into.  
It was a heavy burden, but balanced against it was the death of his baby brother.

Dean lifted the Scythe to his shoulder, ready to swing it, this time without delay. But in the split-second it began its trajectory, Dean knew he wouldn't do it, couldn't do it.  
He understood there was no price he wouldn't pay to keep Sam safe.

The Scythe descended towards Sam's head but Dean had no intention of allowing it to strike his little brother and the weapon ploughed steadily on until Dean watched in horror as it buried itself in Death, cutting through him from side to side.

:

Sam could only stare wide-eyed as the ancient being disintegrated into specks of black dust, his eyes searching out those of his sibling.  
Dean turned and held out a hand to pull Sam up, for which Sam was thankful as his legs felt kind of wobbly.  
Without letting go of his hand, Dean pulled his brother into a hug, registering the fine tremors coursing though Sam's body, wondering if Sam was picking up the same vibes from him.  
They hung on tight to each other, taking strength and comfort from their physical closeness, just as they'd always done until Dean pulled reluctantly away.

:

He turned to gaze at the spot where Death had been standing and cursed. He'd just killed Death and he still had the Mark on his arm, a masterpiece of fuckuppery!  
But he still had Sam.  
He was beginning to wonder if his little brother hadn't been right all along. Neither had to die. They'd work something out.

:

When the pillar of blue light zigzagged its way through the ceiling and burned the Mark of Cain off his arm, he decided that killing Death hadn't been enough of a fuck-up. A spell had been cast to complicate matters even more.

Death's tales of the catastrophe that would fall on the Earth should the Mark be cancelled from Creation were about to be tested, and the elder Winchester fervently hoped they were just that; tales that Death had dreamed up to encourage him to kill Sam, but the little voice in his head that whispered how things never turned out well for the Winchesters told him otherwise.

:

Ten minutes later when they were desperately trying to get the Impala out of a ditch before the raging cloud of darkness rushed to engulf the car and its occupants, Dean prayed to the absent God to show his face, and for once to come to their aid.

The end


End file.
